


A Comedy Of Heirs

by Pollyanna



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-01
Updated: 2002-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollyanna/pseuds/Pollyanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A variation on 'The Comedy of Errors'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Comedy Of Heirs

**Author's Note:**

> Highlander story written for Eng's Slashing the Bard Schmarlequin contest in October 2000. I kept meaning to revise it but never got round to it, so this is the first draft.  
> This is verrry loosely based on 'The Comedy of Errors' and benefits from two MacLeods and two Fitzcairns. In order to make things a little easier to follow this will be the naming convention:  
> Duncan MacLeod of Epicure will be known as Mac and his friend will be Fitz.  
> Duncan MacLeod of Cynosure will be known as Duncan and his friend will be Hugh.
> 
> For the two cities, you should think of Epicure as some Italian port where the warm air and long days lead to a relaxed and somewhat rakish atmosphere. While Cynosure is like to some Dutch city where cooler climes and clear light make men more circumspect. 
> 
> Warning: Although I cannot hope to match Shakespeare's language, I must modestly claim to have surpassed him in the skill of incomprehensible and illogical plots. No angst was harmed in the writing of this piece. 

Duncan MacLeod of Cynosure stood on the deck of the Torveg ship looking towards the fair port of Epicure. The city had become known as the White Peacock, and the stately mansions of the nobles and rich merchants, glittering with glass and marble, did indeed look like a peacock's tail spread out on the hills behind the whitewashed walls of the meaner houses, that seemed to spring straight from the blue sea. It was indeed beautiful and a sight rarely seen by those of Cynosure, since the long-standing rivalry between the two ports had erupted into pitched battles in the streets whenever a ship of one port docked at the other. The ruling Dukes of the two cities had met on neutral ground and drawn up a treaty forbidding all contact on pain of death or the paying of a thousand marks - more than enough to beggar any merchant. 

So it had been necessary for Duncan to change ships three times on his journey so none would know from whence he had sailed. At the last port they had had the good fortune to fall in with a Torveg captain that they knew and he had been happy to give them passage and to deny any knowledge of their starting point when they arrived at Epicure. If matters fell out satisfactorily then they would be returning on his ship since he would be in port for a few days. As well as conducting his business he was planning to visit with his sister at the Isle of Prayers which lay just outside the port. The Isle was a blessed place, giving as it did protection from the sea to the harbour, and welcoming women from all faiths who wanted to retire from life for a time of contemplation. It was renowned for its healers and for many years Duncan had thought of it as his birthplace, until his Immortality had been revealed. 

He felt a familiar hum and then heard steps behind him, so he turned to meet the merry countenance of his friend Hugh Fitzcairn. Beside the sombre beauty of Duncan, Hugh shone like a fresh minted penny; his blond curls and sparkling blue eyes gave him an almost angelic appearance. In Cynosure the artist Vanmeer, who lived near to them, had often borrowed him as a model for heavenly messengers. Although the artist had been heard to remark dryly that Hugh always seemed more natural as a satyr or a cupid, than as a cherub. It was true that he had a gift for mischief, but also the charm and amiability to avert censure which was to the good since his birth had given him few other advantages. Hugh had been a foundling sold into slavery as a baby, and had indeed been Duncan's slave until Duncan reached the age of eighteen and immediately freed him. By that time they had become close friends and Hugh had decided to stay with the family as a servant. Some five years later they had both discovered their Immortality when they had drowned in a boating accident. 

"Milord," started Hugh. 

"There's no need to call me that," said Duncan with a wince. 

"I shall have to defer to you when we land, so I might as well accustom myself now," replied Hugh. "Anyway, milord, the captain says we will be here for an hour before the tide turns and we can enter, so we should go below and change into something more fitting." 

"Very well, loyal and obsequious retainer," said Duncan wrinkling his lip in an attempt at a haughty sneer which only caused Hugh to cast his eyes to the heavens. They descended to the small cabin that they shared where Duncan proceeded to strip off the black garments that he wore. Although they were well-cut and of the finest cloth and workmanship, they were too drab for the Peacock city. Hugh then insisted on pouring water into a bowl for him to wash and helping him dress despite his protests. He himself then changed into the simple cream tunic and hose of a servant, tying back his blond hair with a plain leather cord. 

"How do I look?" he asked spreading his arms and then twirling around. 

"Most grave and sober," said Duncan. 

"You do not need to sound so surprised," said Hugh with hands on hips. 

Duncan grinned. "What cause would I have for surprise, when every scrape I have found myself in since I was able to walk could be laid at your door?" Then he frowned and said, "How about me? Do I look too much the popinjay?" 

"Popinjay, hm?" Hugh rested his chin on one hand and made a show of studying his friend closely. On his feet were gleaming boots, the soft tan leather lying in folds around his ankles; his shapely legs were shown to advantage in close-fitting buff hose. His fine silk shirt was amber and his jerkin of brown padded velvet was richly embroidered in copper and gold. His dark hair was loosed from its usual braid and lay in waves about his shoulders. He looked exquisite but Hugh knew him too well to say that so settled on saying, "You look like a noble of Epicure." And since that was the aim of the rich apparel, Duncan had to be content. 

They turned their attention to their baggage and made sure it was all secure, particularly the small wooden chest which appeared quite insignificant, but in that chest lay a king's ransom in jewels. Except it was not to ransom a king but instead Iain MacLeod, Duncan's foster father. 

When Duncan's Immortality had revealed itself it had been a sad blow for Iain in a life that had known many sorrows. He and his wife Moira had been childless for many years and it had been a cause of great rejoicing when , while visiting Epicure, she had been safely delivered of twins, Duncan and his brother Donald. When she was recovered from the birth they had returned to Cynosure. There they had come upon Hugh and his twin brother Henry in the slave market and had bought them as companions for their own sons. A few months after, Moira had been stricken with a strange longing to return to Epicure, so they had embarked again. A terrible storm had blown up and Moira and one half of each of the twins had been washed overboard and drowned, their bodies lost for ever in the devouring sea. 

After that the only things that interested Iain were his merchant ships and his little son who would grow up to inherit everything and pass it on to his own sons. Duncan's Immortality had crushed that dream and Iain had slowly begun to withdraw from life. Until one day a traveller had bought a strange tale of another Duncan MacLeod living in Epicure, and despite the Dukes' ruling Iain had immediately set off to see if this might be some mortal relation of his. Not many weeks after his departure a message had been relayed, through the banking family of the Porellis, that Iain had been imprisoned in Epicure and a ransom was due or else he would forfeit his life. Duncan immediately set to in order to raise the money. It was a weighty sum and the MacLeod household and all who depended on it would be paupers if it was paid, so Duncan had decided to risk the journey to Epicure himself to see if there was any way to release Iain without the money being passed over. Although Duncan knew that Iain was not his blood relation the habit of love between them had not ceased. 

~~~~ 

In one of the villas of Epicure another foster father was feeling considerably lacking in love for his son, and was holding forth on the theory that he had been put on this earth just to cause him grief. The Count Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez was fairly blistering the air with the heat of his fury, which seemed to be having no effect on the son in question. The man who stood facing him was the very image of the Duncan MacLeod who waited to enter the harbour, only the colours of his garments differed, since this MacLeod had chosen burgundy and pearl-grey from his wardrobe that morning. At the moment his handsome features were arranged in an expression of stoic boredom which only served to exasperate Ramirez's anger. At least the servant standing at his son's right shoulder looked suitably chastened. Frustrated with his son's nonchalance, Ramirez addressed the servant directly, "Fitzcairn, what were you thinking of allowing such a thing to take place?" Fitz hunched and seemed to lean sideways as if trying to hide behind the broad back in front of him, and his friend came to his rescue. 

"Now then, father, you know Fitz has no chance of stopping me when my mind is set. I can't understand why you're making such a fuss about a drunken prank." 

"Wild japes on your drinking companions are one thing, but when they involve respectable citizens, it is quite another, Duncan." 

Fitz winced. Ramirez only called his foster son Duncan when his temper was at its highest. 

"But Captain Gremont was a drinking companion," said Mac in pained innocence, which he then spoiled with a broad grin. "You don't think we'd have convinced him to run naked through the streets clasping only a strategic amphora if he hadn't been drunk, do you?" Ramirez thrust his hands through his greying hair as if he contemplated pulling it out and stalked back to the chair he had been sitting in when he started this rebuke. 

"Mac, Mac, can you not see how unworthy of you this was?" sighed Ramirez. Mac sobered a little, discomforted by Ramirez's obvious disappointment. Ramirez continued, "What do you think of now, when you think of Captain Gremont? A foolish old man duped by drink. And what was brought to mind before last night? The tale of his swordplay on the wharf at Laryn, when he kept the mob at bay so his crew could safely board." 

"A tale which he never tires of telling! He's bored you with it many an evening," said Mac with some acerbity. 

"Yes I admit that is true, and I must bear the blame for not setting an example of respect, but the tale was also true." He almost pleaded with Mac as he gestured with his hands. "Did you not see the scars on his body when he disrobed? He was like to die from the wounds he took in that fight, and he is no Immortal to be able to rise again. He is too old now to work his passage and so perhaps dwells too much on the prowess of his youth. But taking away his honour was too grave a punishment for trying your patience." 

As Ramirez finished speaking Mac blushed and hung his head. "I'm sorry, father, I didn't think." 

"You are young yet, but you are an Immortal and you have the time to think. As punishment you will stay within the grounds of the villa for the next week and think on your foolishness and try to come up with some way of compensating the captain." 

"Yes, father." 

Ramirez stood and strode towards the doorway. He paused by Fitz and reached out to lift the downcast chin with a finger. "You too." 

"Yes, Count." 

Ramirez continued on his way with the parting shot. " 'Tis a pity you're both Immortal or I could crack your heads together to try and knock some sense into them!" 

~~~~ 

Meanwhile on the quay at the docks, Duncan was regarding the porters Hugh had picked out with some disbelief. Only one of them was not a greybeard and that one had a club foot, which would at least slow him down to the pace of the others. Duncan knew that Hugh had a very generous heart, and it was indeed one of his most engaging qualities as a friend, but this seemed to be taking benevolence too far. 

Gesturing to Hugh to come to one side, he spoke in a low voice. "Hugh, have you gone mad? It will take us all day to travel to the inn at this rate." 

"But we will get there and with all our luggage intact," replied Hugh. "None of these lively fellows will be ducking down an alleyway with our valuables." 

Duncan paused, struck by the truth of that. Hugh could often show a surprising pragmatism and it seemed that he was using all his talents to the full in their undertaking. Perhaps there was not so close a tie as there had been between Iain and Duncan, but Iain was certainly the closest that Hugh had to family, and the revelation of his Immortality had strengthened the connection. Iain was now shown as foster father to them both. Iain had been delighted that Duncan had manumitted Hugh, and would have done so himself if Hugh had not been written down as a bondsman to Duncan. As soon as Hugh was free, he had allowed him to take a share in one of his voyages so that Hugh now had some independent money although he has happy to stay in the house where he had been raised. Finding himself in agreement with Hugh's arrangements, Duncan bid farewell to the captain of the Torveg ship they had arrived in. The captain had recommended the inn they were heading for, which was in the northern part of the city away from the more disreputable dock area and close to the mansions of the Porellis. 

~~~~ 

When they had been making their plans on the ship, it had seemed most sensible for Duncan to stay in the inn while Hugh asked around the port for news. A servant gossiping was as unremarkable as a fish swimming. The only visit Duncan had made was to the nearby Porelli family to deposit the jewels and to announce his arrival, although he had requested them to keep it secret. The Porellis had become the richest bankers in the peninsular by their trustworthiness but were to a certain extent outside the law. They would be happy to act as go-betweens to deliver the ransom if needed and in the meantime if Duncan wished to pursue other avenues, then silence was often golden. 

So Hugh had drank his way round the taverns while Duncan stayed in his room reading, or practised his swordplay in one of the inn's yards, or slowly climbed the walls in frustration. It therefore came as a great relief for Hugh to run into his rooms late on the afternoon of the third day, obviously bursting with news. 

"What is it? Have you found where father is being held?" 

"No," gasped Hugh who was leaning on the table trying to catch his breath. 

"They've not decided to execute him?" Duncan's skin felt icy as the fear came over him that they should not have delayed with paying the ransom. 

"No. No. 'Tis good news. There's another me." 

"What? Is your brain addled with wine already? What are you talking about?" Duncan could see that a huge smile was spreading over Hugh's face, but he was a happy drunk, and Duncan was just beginning to wonder if he would need to take him down to the inn pump to sober up, when Hugh spoke again. 

"There's another me in this town, Duncan. Another Fitzcairn. My brother." 

"In truth? You've seen him?" 

"No, but I was mistook for him and that must mean it is indeed my twin. And there is yet more, my friend. He is servant to a MacLeod." 

"A MacLeod?" Duncan sat down, and then stood again clasping his hands. "Can it be Donald? 'Tis not a common name in the south but I have heard there is an Immortal named Connor MacLeod in these parts. Perhaps it is him?" 

"It is a possibility, but a Fitzcairn and a MacLeod together? It must be those we thought lost all these years. Our brothers are alive." 

"I cannot believe until I have more proof - to think him alive and then to have him taken again would be too sore a trial." 

"I have a way of putting it to the test! The man who mistook me asked why I had not been in the White Horse these past nights. We can go down this evening and if they take you for this MacLeod then it is certain your brother is in this city. He might even be in the tavern tonight." 

Duncan's excitement calmed a little as he remembered the purpose of their masquerade. "But what of my father. It is he who should be the object of our efforts." 

"Who better to aid us in our search than our brothers? They know the city and if their wits are as keen as ours then Iain is as good as free." 

"What are we waiting for? To the White Horse." 

~~~~ 

Mac sat on the low wall between the colonade and the garden leaning back against a pillar and watching the last glints of the evening sun in the fountain. The hum of an Immortal came closer and he peered around the pillar to try and see who was coming. If it was Ramirez he would try to avoid a meeting as he had been doing for the last three days. The more he thought on that foolish evening the more he found it difficult to meet Ramirez's eyes. But coming along the walk was Fitz clad in a voluminous cloak and peering ahead to spot the source of the Immortal hum he could feel. They both sighed with relief on viewing each other and Mac swung his feet down to the floor. 

"Why the cloak, Fitz? It's not that cold." 

"I thought to take a turn around the garden and the dew can come on fast with the dusk," replied Fitz with an innocent expression. However Mac had seen that expression too many times to be fooled by it. 

"What are you up to, Fitz?" 

"Me? What could I be up to behind the walls of this villa?" 

"Fitz! You're going outside." 

Fitz gaped. His expression seemed to proclaim, 'How did you know?' He drew himself up in an attitude of dignified reproach. "What makes you think such a scandalous calumny?" 

Mac grinned. "You're a terrible liar, Fitz. A most engaging trait, but a drawback for someone with your nose for trouble. But where are you going that's worth risking Ramirez's wrath?" 

"Not where but who. I have to see the fair Rosamund or my heart will wither and die through lack of sustenance. I pine for the peaches of her skin, the cherry of her cheeks, the honey of her lips ..." 

"And if you stay away much longer she may well spread her banquet elsewhere. A most generous lady is Rosamund." Mac dryly finished. 

Fitz seemed to decide that defending his lady's honour was probably a lost cause so changed the subject. "Will you not accompany me? Your own sweet companion will be pining for you." 

Mac rested the back of his hand against his forehead in a dramatic pose. "Ah yes, I see it now. He grows pale and wastes away in a decline. Alack-a-day." 

Fitz snorted. "So are you coming?" 

"No. It behoves me to obey Ramirez's command. Also I must confess I'm a little reluctant to face our comrades at the moment. Either I would feel guilt at their condemnation or more guilt at their approbation. If the old man is missing me, tell him why I keep the house. Oh and see if he can think of some way of restoring face to Captain Gremont. He has a talent for cunning ploys when he sets his mind to it." 

~~~~ 

Duncan and Hugh entered the door of the White Horse a little warily, not sure of what to expect. Some of the patrons glanced at them and a few nodded greeting but it was difficult to tell if this was just common courtesy or acknowledgement. They could see that this first room had a long bar at one end and the side was open to a courtyard with several other rooms visible across the yard. It was a large complex warren of an inn in which you could easily find a secluded place if you wanted to be private. Duncan and Hugh exchanged a glance, shrugged and made their way to the bar. The tall red-headed man serving looked towards them and said, "Mac, good to see you. I thought Ramirez had taken your head." Since Duncan was struck speechless by the realisation that not only was his twin alive but that he had come into his Immortality as well, it was left to Hugh to reply, "Well, as you can see his throat is intact but very dry, so ... " 

"The usual?" interrupted the landlord. 

"Exactly," replied Hugh gamely. Both he and Duncan were relieved when the usual turned out to be two goblets of fine red wine, and not some incredibly potent native brew. 

"Would you like to take an amphora?" asked the landlord, with the air of a man sharing a joke. "Or are you still recovering from your last visit?" 

"I think a little restraint is advised tonight," said Hugh with a wink. Experience had shown him that complicity with landlords was always a good plan. 

"Wanting to keep your pecker up, eh?" The landlord leered. "I haven't seen Rosamund around but Methos was asking after you earlier, Mac." 

"Uh, he was?" replied Duncan intelligently. 

"Yes, he's in one of the garden rooms across the yard, I think." The landlord looked at him expectantly. 

"I'll go search him out then," said Duncan and turned away wondering just how he was going to recognise someone he'd never seen before. 

"I'll stay here and catch up on the gossip," said Hugh. 

Duncan made his way through the yard and then noticed there was a passage to another yard which had a small fountain and several trees. Assuming this was the garden he entered and then became aware of the hum of another Immortal. Epicure, like Cynosure, was one of the sanctuary cities which welcomed Immortals as long as they kept their duels outside the city limits, so he would not have to fear immediate attack, but it was still possible to be challenged so he looked around warily. In one of the small rooms fronting the yard a double lamp was giving enough light to read by and the occupant had looked up from his scroll when Duncan came in range. This had to be the strange Immortal, and Duncan studied him as a potential challenger. Even though he was sitting down he appeared tall and he lounged back in his chair with an elegance of movement that indicated agility. He had dark hair cut in a short, almost boyish, style and as Duncan came closer the stranger's eyes appeared to glow golden in the light of the lamp. He had a long-sleeved doublet of dark forest-green and at his neck the collar of the shirt he wore beneath seemed to be the palest primrose yellow. Duncan drew breath to introduce himself, but was interrupted by the stranger. 

"Mac, I've been looking for you." 

"You have?" Duncan said and then with a flash of inspiration added, "Methos." He walked towards the strange Immortal with more confidence, especially when the other's face warmed into a smile of wry amusement. 

"Yes. I've missed you. As much a surprise to me as it is to you, no doubt." 

"What can I say? I'm an engaging fellow," said Duncan with a measure of modest pride at how easily he had slipped into his brother's shoes. He was standing before the other man now, who stood up so quickly that Duncan was forced to take a step backwards until he was leaning against the wall. Another Immortal's presence hit them and Duncan looked up to see Hugh standing just outside looking at them with an expression of panic on his face. Methos looked towards Hugh and then dismissed him to concentrate on Duncan who was still watching Hugh in some puzzlement as Hugh began to kiss the back of his hand with every appearance of rapture. 

"Indeed you are," said Methos silkily and leant forward to take his mouth in a whole-hearted kiss. 

Duncan opened his mouth to say something to dissuade his eager companion, who just took it as an invitation to explore further. He brought his hands up to rest on the chest in front of him with a thought of pushing Methos away, but realised that this would only create the need for awkward explanations. There should be some way to riposte this wanton assault with words so he continued trying to speak, but found it difficult due to lack of breath and the presence of two tongues in his mouth. 

Methos finally disengaged with a smile that looked all together too pleased with itself. "Gods, but I love those little sounds that you make, like an angel whimpering." Now that his mouth was free Duncan could think of nothing to say, and Methos' brows gathered in a small furrow. "Is something wrong, Mac?" Duncan caught sight of Hugh again, this time his frantic dumbshow consisted of kissing the back of his other hand, and without giving himself time to think, Duncan acted on the advice. His hands moved up to cradle the head with its surprisingly silky hair and he brought their lips together. He had never kissed a man before, never been intrigued by the similarities to be found in a male body, instead delighting in the mysteries of women. But he was no novice in the art of kissing and found that now the initial numbness had worn off, there was indeed a subtle delight in this exploration of the familiar. They were matched height to height, strength to strength and although he had initiated the kiss, he found himself matched and then o'ermatched in passion. 

When at last they parted, he looked into a pair of eyes that had become a ring of gold and green around centres that had grown hugely dark. He found himself thinking whimsically of faery caves where mortals entered never to be seen again. 

"Milord," said Hugh in a small voice. Duncan wondered who his friend was speaking to, as he ran a finger over the lips which moved to speak under his touch. 

"Milord? Since when does Fitz call you 'Milord'?" With a jolt Duncan remembered who and where he was. 

"Since he has something important to tell me," replied Duncan, a little concerned that he could dissemble so quickly. Deceit had not been a skill he had wished to acquire. 

Methos looked at Hugh inquiringly, who made a helpless apologetic gesture with his hands. 

"Secrets, Mac? My, you are showing hidden depths. I will leave you to your intrigues and fetch a bottle of wine since you seem to have unaccountably forgotten to bring one with you." 

Methos left and Duncan looked at Hugh with a raised eyebrow. 

"Uh, Methos is your brother's lover." 

Duncan was not prone to sarcasm, but his voice was more than a little dry as he replied, "Surprisingly, Hugh, I think I have discovered that for myself." 

~~~~ 

Methos stood at the bar waiting for the landlord to finish serving an exuberant group of sailors. He passed the time in wondering why Mac had seemed so distracted this evening, perhaps it had been surprise at his own declaration. He would have to be careful, it would never do to let the young one become complacent. He felt an Immortal presence and turned to find a cloaked and hooded figure coming towards him. He straightened slowly and then ducked forward to peer under the hood in surprise as a familiar voice hailed him. 

"Methos, have you ..." 

"Fitz!" 

"Shh, not so loud." The figure looked around in some trepidation, but the rest of the room continued their revelry. Methos glanced towards the yard. He could not see through walls to the garden but he was sure Fitz had not come from that direction. The Fitzcairn in front of him continued, "Ramirez would be furious. No, make that even more furious if he knew I was here." 

"So what are you doing here?" 

"Looking for Rosamund, of course." 

"Of course you are," said Methos with more bemusement than he had felt in some centuries. There was a mystery here and he was just beginning to get a glimmer of what it might be. A little fishing needed to be done and like any angler he knew the importance of casting the right lure. 

"Where's your brother?" 

"Brother?" 

"Mac. You two are close kin as ever I did see for Immortals. Why which brother did you think I meant?" 

"I do not often speak of it, but I did have a real brother once. A twin as like to me as the mirror on the wall." Fitz sighed and seemed for once to have grave thoughts in his mind. 

"A twin? I have never heard of such a thing. A singularity indeed amongst Immortals." 

"No, 'twas not so. For Mac also had a twin. But our other selves were lost when the ship we were on foundered. We would have died ourselves since we had been washed overboard but a fishing boat itself hard-pressed by the storm found us and took us to safety." 

"Two sets of Immortal twins. What stars must have heralded their birth," mused Methos and then noticed Fitz's woebegone expression. "Ah, I'm sorry, Fitz, to have brought your sad history to mind. But lighten your heart, I see great happiness ahead." 

"You do?" 

"Yes, Rosamund has just walked in. Alone." Fitz spun round so fast he managed to turn around completely in his cloak which from its size probably belonged to Mac. Methos helpfully unravelled him and then caught hold of the cloak to prevent his escape. 

"Fitz, tell Mac I want to see him tomorrow in the maze at the edge of Ramirez's grounds. Make it ten of the morning and you should be there too." 

"Yes, yes, of course," murmured Fitz distractedly as he tracked Rosamund's popular progress through the inn. 

"Fitz," said Methos in a voice that was so edged in ice that shivers ran down Fitz's spine, "if you forget, I will come and find you." 

Ah, quite so," squeaked Fitz. "Tomorrow at ten of the morning, in the maze in the south-east corner of the garden." 

"What a blessing an Immortal memory is," said Methos and let go of Fitz's cloak. He had other fish to catch now. 

Methos strolled back to the garden room, his expression relaxed while behind the calm facade his thoughts cast to and fro like hounds searching for the scent. In many ways he was thankful to the new MacLeod for presenting him with such an interesting riddle, but he was also wary of what it might mean for his own lover. Even if no harm was meant, no Immortal stripling could think to deceive the eldest and escape unscathed; however beautiful that Immortal was. He paused a moment at the entrance to the garden to drink in that perfection. The young man had chosen a seat in the garden room opposite to where Methos had been seated, so the lamplight illuminated him like some rare treasure. Perhaps he had become so used to Mac that he had forgotten how goodly he was to look upon. Now that he knew that beauty existed twice over, it added to his glamour instead of detracting. 

A morsel of news that he had heard suddenly suggested his next course of action. He would have liked to sit next to this MacLeod but that place was taken by the servant, no doubt to ward off any more advances to his master. Methos found himself wondering just how innocent this master was as he took his place back at the table and poured them all wine. Then he leant back and began to bait his trap. 

"MacLeod seems to be on all tongues at the moment," he said casually, watching the youngster from behind lowered lids. Duncan straightened fractionally, but replied with every mark of disinterest, "Indeed?" 

"Yes. Firstly, of course, there's your little escapade of a few nights ago." Duncan quickly glanced at Hugh who could not offer any help, so Methos continued, "You're right, that is best passed over in silence. Then I hear that Connor has taken the head of the Kurgan." 

"Well, Connor is said to be a superb fighter," offered Duncan cautiously. 

"True," replied Methos, "and you should know since Ramirez entrusted some of your training to him." He then lapsed into silence long enough to make Duncan uncomfortable, but just as Duncan looked as if he would venture a remark Methos said, "And now I hear of some mortal merchant from Cynosure taken up by the Duke's men." 

"Iain MacLeod?" asked Duncan leaning forward eagerly. 

"Yes," replied Methos regarding the youngster fully and making him aware that he had betrayed his interest. "Do you know him?" 

"The name caught my ear in passing and I wondered what the story was," said Duncan leaning back. 

"I only heard that he'd been taken. Strange that he should venture down here, the citizens of Cynosure aren't known for their recklessness. They've always struck me as a very staid, stodgy people. Don't you think?" 

"I've not had enough acquaintance with them to form an opinion. I didn't think you'd travelled there either." Duncan spoke a trifle stiffly. 

"Oh, you know me, Mac. Been everywhere, seen every sight, tried everything." Duncan jumped as he felt a leg suddenly press itself between his own and he was hard put not to jerk his knees together like some startled virgin. He steered the conversation back to the earlier subject to try and get some more information and distract his seducer's attention. "So you don't have any idea why this MacLeod is down here?" 

"No. Anyway it's of no significance, he can't be a relative of yours. What are you planning on doing later?" 

Duncan's voice rose a little. "Later?" 

"Hmm, later." Methos was rubbing his calf against Duncan's. "Later is what comes after now." 

Hugh realised that Duncan was under siege and sallied forth to the rescue. "Why can't he be a relative?" 

Methos fixed him with an unnerving stare. "Just how much have you been drinking, Fitz? Mac is an Immortal. You are an Immortal. I am an Immortal. That means we are all foundlings, without family." 

"Not entirely without family," interrupted Duncan. "After all there are those who take us in, provide for us, even give their names. Indeed I have often wondered how I came by the name MacLeod." 

"You have?" said Methos dryly. "This is the first I've heard of it." 

"I wondered silently," said Duncan loftily. "Perhaps this mortal might have heard some story of my naming." 

"Well, it is true Ramirez did not give you that name." Methos leaned back and gestured negligently with one hand. "Still, what's in a name? Would you be different if you were Fitzcairn, and Fitz here was MacLeod? You are young yet but you will take many names as Immortals." 

Duncan frowned and raised his goblet to drink as Methos continued, "After all, I can barely remember all the names I've used in 5000 years. Gad, Mac, what has gotten into you?' 

Duncan dabbed ineffectually at the wine which had erupted all over the table and himself, while sputtering, "Sorry ... went to say something ... swallowed ... same time." 

"It's not like you to waste good wine like that. You seem very nervous tonight." 

Duncan and Hugh exchanged apprehensive glances, hoping that one of them could come up with an explanation, but it was Methos who stepped in. "Ah, I have it. Ramirez has confined you to his villa, and you have broken bounds. I can see why you'd be nervous, he has a powerful temper. If he were to see you here then, well, he might not even stop to ask questions before ..." and Methos ghoulishly drew a hand across his throat. Duncan and Hugh looked even more uneasy. 

"I've no wish to lose you to a hasty cut, Mac. Go back to the villa and I'll meet you in the maze in the gardens at ten tomorrow morning. Tell you what, I'll even find out what I can about this Iain MacLeod." Methos smiled ingenuously. 

"That's most kind of you, Methos," said Duncan sincerely. "I'll be in your debt." 

"I know," said Methos and this time the smile was not at all ingenuous. "I'll collect later." 

"Later?" said Duncan, and poured and drained a goblet of wine as Methos watched and smiled. 

~~~~ 

Methos was early to the meeting even though he abhorred rising while the sun was still journeying towards its zenith. But he did not want to miss what bade fair to be a most interesting encounter, particularly when he was the one who had set the stage and furnished the players. In the middle of the maze, set in a green lawn, was a white wooden tower which overlooked the paths so those who were lost could be guided towards the centre. 

He leant on the trellis at the top of the tower, eating a pomegranate and scanning the tracks that led towards the maze. He had just finished the fruit and was licking his fingers when he saw two figures approaching from the gardens. He turned towards the city and was unamazed to see two more figures coming towards them at exactly the right time. As they came closer he waved to his Mac who waved back and then he moved to the other side of the tower so he was out of sight and pointed out which way to take through the maze to the two who were ignorant of its turns. As they came close to the middle he moved back to his original position from where he could see his cast assembling. Mac stepped upon the lawn and within the same breath Duncan entered the open space. They walked forward together, at first only seeing Methos above them, then becoming aware that he was switching his regard from one side to another they looked down and saw each other. They stopped and the only sounds were the twitterings of birds and the bubbling of fountains in the gardens. From the city came the sound of a bell striking the ten, and they stayed frozen until the last chime died away. Then as if released from a spell they stepped towards each other, the two Fitzcairns hung back as if they held themselves as rearguard. 

The two MacLeods walked until only a pace lay between them and then both lifted their right hands to essay a touch. They paused a moment in astonishment as the reflection in front of them raised the opposite hand to theirs. Somehow they had imagined that they would reach forward with their hands and shatter a mirror image. But instead their hands drifted across their bodies as if drawn by some magical force and at last their fingers touched, and there was no ripple of water or hardness of cold glass but instead flesh to warm flesh. 

"Brother?" said Mac, breaking the silence. 

"Is it indeed you?" continued Duncan as seamlessly as if they shared the same mind. 

"None other," replied Mac. 

Still stunned by their own discovery they both looked over their brother's shoulder and saw another golden couplet to complete their joyous verse. At that look, as if released from some spell, Hugh and Fitz took a step forward and then ran towards each other like puppies meeting in a street. Both pairs of brothers embraced and then embraced their friend's brother and then embraced each other again. There was laughter to gild the happiest of moments, and some tears to acknowledge the long sorrow. 

Then they came upon a confusion of names, greeting each other as Donald and Harry, only to find that in all things they matched each other. Generously each brother tried to give over his name. 

"No, 'tis you who should be Duncan." 

"I cannot find you just to steal your name. It is yours most freely." 

"I tell you that I like Harry." 

"I shall be Hal and that's an end to it." 

Drunk with the passions of the moment it seemed they might almost come to blows in their efforts to compensate each other for the long parting. "Peace, infants," a dry voice interrupted them. Methos had descended from his perch and walked among them. "You have shared your names most brotherly for all these years, and I believe you can continue on your way unhindered. You are known as Duncan usually are you not?" A nod for reply. "And my own MacLeod is known as Mac. The two Fitzcairns answer to Fitz and Hugh." Two sweeping bows acknowledged the designations. "Therefore you are distinguished one from another in daily congress. If you need more formal identities, then you may lay claim to your home cities to single you out." 

The brothers all exchanged glances and nods, and Mac said, "Nimble-witted as always, Methos." 

"Five thousand years of wisdom at your service, gentlemen," said Methos and bowed ironically, then muttered under his breath but loud enough that all could hear, "I knew all that study would prove useful eventually." 

As he straightened, Mac dropped a kiss on the end of his nose saying, "Useful as well as ornamental." 

Methos indulged himself in a long-suffering sigh then continued, "Let us go up to the house. There is a matter of foster fathers to be considered." 

"You have heard something of my father?" asked Duncan eagerly. 

"He is well and I will speak further in the house. I am loath to repeat myself and Ramirez will provide good counsel when his wits are recovered from the sight of you." 

~~~~ 

They came upon Ramirez in his study. Methos led the group and Ramirez stood to offer a bow of greeting as he entered, but as Methos stepped aside the twins were revealed, first the MacLeods and then the Fitzcairns. Ramirez sat down abruptly as if his legs had given out, and uttered a single word. 

"Lord! But there's a language rarely heard this century," said Methos with a smirk. 

"This is some trick of yours, Ancient One," accused Ramirez. 

"Not I, but the fates." Yet even as he spoke he proudly swept his hand towards the brothers as if they were his own creation. "Twins! Four twins or is it a twin of twins? Or a quadruplet halved?" 

Ramirez seemed to decide it best to ignore Methos' frivolity and regained his feet walking towards the group. 

"Mac? Duncan?" 

The two acknowledgements he received did not help to disperse his confusion, and neither did the burst of conversation as all tried to explain at once. He held up his hands for silence and then said plaintively, "Methos?" 

"Why, 'tis simply explained, Ramirez. That which was lost is found again. The storm but parted our babes for a little while and did not tear them asunder for eternity. Even their mortal family still lives and it falls to us to reunite them all." 

"Our mortal family?" asked Duncan. 

"All will be revealed," said Methos mysteriously. "Now, go and play, infants. Your elders must draw on their wisdom to see how best this reunion should pass successfully. Do not forget that the citizens of Cynosure are still proscribed in this city." 

~~~~ 

The council chamber of the city of Epicure was large and beautifully appointed. The floor was a chequerboard of black and white tiles, the walls were the white stone used in so many of the buildings of the city and set into them were marble mosaics depicting the sea and all things associated with it. A small dais at one end of the room held several chairs and there were two rows of padded benches set before the walls. To the left of the dais was a chair surrounded by a low wooden rail. This was not for any prisoner that was brought into the chamber, the rail was indeed too low to prevent escape. Instead it served as the territory of the Porellis who belonged to no city but whose counsel and agreement were important for all business undertaken in the chamber. Sitting in the chair was Tize Porelli one of the younger members of the family but already respected for his quick mind. 

The benches by the walls were taken by the most important citizens of the city, merchants and captains mostly, and the benches at the end facing the dais held those who had business with the council. Those who sat here were hooded or veiled, as befitted their sex, so they could not sway those present before the session began. Although this was not a trial, many of the general populace had crowded themselves into the galleries round the court brought by rumours of some fascinating story to be unfolded. 

A bell was struck once and the whole chamber rose to its feet to show respect for the workings of the chamber and for the person who entered. The chronicles showed that there had been times in the history of the council when the person of the Duke had not been shown such reverence, but the current Duke was well esteemed and indeed had been confirmed in his five-year office three times so he had led the city for almost a score of years. The Duke Josephus was a man in his fifties, and his hair and beard showed the silvering of passing years. He was broad and strongly made in his upper body, due in some part to the crutches he had to use to compensate for the loss of his legs when a young man. Many would have drifted into beggary on such a loss but Josephus had used his brain and indefatigable will to make his way in the world on his wits. He smoothly manoeuvred himself into the largest chair on the dais and with a susurration of cloth the chamber seated themselves. 

"Step forth, those who have business with the council," said Josephus. 

A man stood and threw back his hood, revealing himself to be Ramirez. He began to speak. "There is a story here that has many parts and I do not think any man has the whole of it. So I shall ask others to stand and speak their tales so all may be revealed. First must be Iain MacLeod, Captain of the city of Cynosure, to explain his presence amongst us." 

There was a gasp from the crowd as they realised one of the rival port was before them. The man who stood and came forward was dressed in the dark colours of his home and their sombre tones matched his sad countenance. He was a tall man but shrunk in upon himself as if the sap of his life had withered away. His grey hair showed he was a man of some years, and many leant forward to catch his words fearing he would be too faint to hear. But it seemed he was a man accustomed to speaking in public chambers and his voice carried to all. 

"I am not sure how the circumstance of my journey is of interest to you, but such as it is, it is briefly told. It was indeed here, in the city of Epicure, on the Isle of Prayers, that it started twenty-five years gone by. My wife was brought to bed of two sons on the Isle under the care of the holy women that live there. We travelled back to our city of Cynosure but she was taken with a desire to return here. But on the voyage of return a great storm came upon us and my wife was washed overboard with one of my sons, and the brother of the bond-slave of my son. We were like to founder ourselves and were driven far into the sea, finally making our way back to our home city. There I brought up my son by myself, thinking that he would inherit my fleet. But there came a terrible day when the news came that he had drowned along with that same bond-slave who was now a free man and his close friend. I thought to die myself that day, for what was left for me in the world?" Sighs came from the gallery and even the flourishing of white kerchiefs could be seen by the most sensitive. 

"But even as I considered how best to leave the world, my son came through the door. I thought it a miracle and it was in one way, since at this resurrection my son was revealed as an Immortal, and yet at the same time shown as no son of my blood. Although when I saw him alive, the joy I felt proved he was no less the son of my heart. His friend had at that same sinking become Immortal and I was glad that they would continue on in life together. After that the mortal world began to hold less lustre for me, since I would leave no family to continue in it after my death. Then I heard from a traveller that there was another Duncan MacLeod in the city of Epicure. At this, I began to wonder if this was perhaps the brother of my own Duncan, or if he might be mortal. It was certain that my dear wife Moira had been carrying a child when we arrived here, so perhaps she had taken in a foundling as a kindness to bring up as a brother to our son. I came to seek this other Duncan but was too distracted to hide my origins, so was taken up by the Guard. Now I await either ransom or death and am none the wiser as to whether there was another Duncan and if he was my own child." 

Ramirez rose from the place where he had withdrawn when Iain began to speak and walked towards a place where some of the holy women of the Isle sat. He stopped before one and held out his hand saying, "Here is one who can throw some light on this strange mystery." His hand was taken and the veiled figure stood and stepped forth to speak. She threw back the veil and was shown as a woman past her middle years, her hair caught in silver braids around her head and eyes as bright blue as the summer sea. 

"Moira!" gasped Iain MacLeod. 

"Well met, husband, after so many lonely years." And the smile that shone forth made her the most beautiful sight in that shining chamber. 

"Truth it is indeed, husband, that I was lost, but I shall tell now the story of that parting and what came after. As I was swept into the sea the wide skirts of my dress bore me up for a little while. I held the two babes high hoping that they might catch some last breaths of life even as I felt the sea making my robes heavy." A gasp of horror from the gallery greeted this most pitiful description. 

"I knew death was upon us, when of a sudden a small fishing boat came into view fleeing before the storm like a mouse before a cat. The fishermen caught a glance of something white which was the cloths the babes were swaddled in and in that same instant flung a net over the side and caught and dragged us in like so many herrings. The wind was driving us straight to Epicure and as we came near they skilfully brought us into the lee behind the Isle and we managed to dock at the small wharf there." A gust of relief came from the watching crowd even though they knew that the story must end well. Moira continued, "I was ill and weak from my misadventure, and from the shock of losing my husband since I was sure the ship had foundered. But the ladies of the Isle looked after the two babes while I lay in a fever, and it was as they were tending them in a garden one day that the Count Ramirez came upon them. And I think it meet that he should say a few words now, although there is more to my story yet untold." 

Ramirez spoke then. "When I came into the garden I felt at once the hum of a pre-Immortal. Some there are that have little presence while they are still mortal but there was a definite hum in that garden and I determined that it was coming from the dark-haired of the two infants. It is the custom to leave pre-Immortals with their families since those kind enough to take in foundlings make the best template for dealings with mortals in later life. But when I inquired about the family I was told of the sadness that had brought them there and I determined to talk to the Lady Moira when she was well. When we did eventually speak she was shocked to hear of the pre-Immortal and did not feel capable of raising him herself since he needs must be tutored in swordplay and other warrior skills. She asked that I take him and insisted that the other babe must go with him, and that I should keep and care for the mortal until he was at least 18. I agreed reluctantly." Ramirez coughed and stroked his beard in embarrassment. "I was most mortified in later years to realise that the mortal was also a pre-Immortal that I had missed. I left Epicure to travel to some lands I have in the East and Lady Moira stayed in retreat at the Isle, but not completely alone." 

"No, Lord Ramirez." This time it was Moira who went to the holy women and led forth another who threw back her veil to reveal an exquisite golden-haired woman with the same sea-blue eyes as Moira. "With me on the Isle was my daughter, my own little Tessa. Your daughter, Iain. Blood of your blood, the Lady Teresa MacLeod." 

The gasp from the crowd was this time rising to a murmur, but the Duke Josephus had only to cast his glance upwards for the babble to stop, then he spoke, "Was this Teresa the child you carried and bore on the Island?" 

"It was indeed, Duke," replied Moira. 

"Why then did you conceal this from your husband, and introduce the foundlings?" 

"In the city of Cynosure they follow the old tradition of challenges. If there should be any quarrel between captains or any desire to take over another's business, it can still be settled by a matter of swords. Usually it does make for a most peaceful atmosphere," said Moira with a touch of dryness. "But my husband was not a native of the city and had indeed to fight two challenges to maintain his place. I knew that a daughter could not safely inherit from him, and it seemed the foundlings were convenient at that moment in time. I must confess that in the period after the childbirth my mind was much disturbed and what seemed most wise then seems most foolish and cruel now. Some few months after I returned to Cynosure I realised that I could not leave my daughter to strangers and I determined to return to Epicure." At this, the Lady Teresa took hold of her mother's hand and it was seen that any resentment she might have felt had long passed away in the knowledge of being loved. 

Iain MacLeod walked towards his wife and daughter and taking those hands which were not clasped he pressed kisses one upon another, and if tears fell also upon those hands they had no mind to complain. His voice was still strong, but now a little hoarse when he spoke again. "How foolish I was to seek so hard after worldly goods. If I am allowed to return to Cynosure I will be happy with a simple life enriched only by my family. My daughter will not be put to the risk of challenges." 

A new voice now sounded in the chamber. "She will have no need to face them, for surely her foster-brother can stand as her champion." Duncan threw back the hood that had obscured his features and stood forth to be joined immediately by Mac who added, "And she has two foster-brothers." Not to be outdone the Fitzcairns revealed themselves, and Hugh said, "And two dear friends," as Fitz finished, "If she so desires." 

Then it was not only the Lady Teresa who stood stunned but Iain, Moira and the whole chamber, excepting the two old Immortals who had planned this dramatic revelation. When at last order had been restored to the session it was the Duke Josephus who had the final word. "I shall not separate what has been reunited after so many years. Captain MacLeod is free to return home with whomever he wishes to take with him of his family." The roar of approval from the gallery showed that he had again confirmed the people's confidence in him as Duke. 

~~~~ 

Methos viewed the packed tables with quiet contentment, helped by the exceptionally fine wine that Ramirez was serving. When Ramirez had announced his intention of inviting everyone to a repast that very night, Methos had been resigned to an indifferent meal. It would be difficult for any kitchen to produce a banquet at such short notice, but the chefs had surpassed themselves. There were none of the intricate confections and exotic rarities that would be expected at a formal feast, but everything that was presented was of the finest quality. Ramirez had raided his cellar to produce his most vintage wines, and the meal was furnished with that rarest of garnishes - joy. 

In all his many years, Methos could remember few occasions where the participants had been of such good cheer. Ramirez and Iain MacLeod had their heads together, no doubt discussing their respective sons. Moira sat next to Iain and conversed with her companion the Duke Josephus, but the talk was interspersed with small touches and kisses from her husband. The Lady Teresa had been sitting between the two Fitzcairns and handling them with such charm and spirit that they were like to be her slaves already. One of the Fitzcairns, he thought it must be Fitz since the one left had his hair tied back, was missing and he looked round for the two MacLeods assuming he would find him there. The two brothers were standing near the door and he relished the picture they made. Mac had dressed them in the richest outfits from his wardrobe and they glittered in cloth of gold. Duncan's hair was caught back but otherwise they seemed a perfect match for each other. He was hard put to choose between them. 

At that moment Fitz appeared through the doorway and came to speak to Mac. They had a whispered conversation and then Mac gestured to one of the servants to bring a chair to the centre of the room. Noticing this action the room hushed and Fitz disappeared again. Methos noticed that Mac looked nervous but Duncan clasped his shoulder and gave him a look of encouragement and pride. What were the infants up to now? 

Fitz led an elderly man into the room and to the chair, then turning to the throng announced, "The Honourable Captain Gremont, Hero of Laryn." 

The captain looked most uncomfortable at the announcement and at the general attention that was now drawn to him. But Mac stepped forward and spoke, "Captain Gremont, I have asked for you to come here to beg your forgiveness for my most foolish insolence. In my few short years I have not performed any deed to match your courage. I can only hope that if I am granted the boon of many years of life, I shall remember your example and look always to the preservation of others before myself. I apologise to you most humbly." As Mac spoke this last sentence he gracefully fell to his knees before the Captain and then bowing his head, lifted the Captain's booted foot and placed it on his neck. 

The Captain seemed as if turned to stone and the whole room was frozen still in solemn silence. Never had such an abasement been seen in Epicure and to see it performed by an Immortal was astonishing. Captain Gremont suddenly realised that the whole room was waiting on his action and he hastily removed his foot and said, "I accept your apology, Duncan MacLeod." Duncan raised his head and lifted his hands which the Captain grasped between his own. 

Fitz made a deep obeisance to the Captain and said, "Please accept my apology as well, Captain, for my part in the folly. In truth I did little but provide the amphora," and he added almost as an aside. "I did have to find a very large amphora." The audience which had begun to relax, tensed again with horror, but then a small snort escaped from the Captain. The snort became a chuckle and the chuckle became a guffaw in which he was joined by many there. Ramirez rose and invited him with a gesture to the table where he was sat by the Duke, and spent the rest of the evening either in a brown study or chuckling to himself. 

Methos caught Mac's eye and raised his goblet in salute. Mac grinned and bowed his head in return, then nodded towards Duncan by his side as if to indicate that it had been his idea. Methos smiled at Duncan, who blushed, which made Methos smile some more and in a less than innocent fashion. Duncan's colour rose even higher and he turned to Mac and began to explain something very rapidly. Mac listened with raised eyebrows, then clapped Duncan on the back and said something which Methos interpreted as, "Don't let me stop you!" Duncan looked at Mac with muted horror, then Mac took on a conspiratorial air and began to lead Duncan away. Duncan glanced back over his shoulder only to see Methos raise his goblet to him and he quickly looked forward again. Methos drained his goblet. Ah, but the evening was getting better and better. 

~~~~ 

The servants in Ramirez's house were used to seeing Methos around and thought nothing of directing him to the bedroom of the new Duncan MacLeod, so he could bid him good night before retiring. He knocked on the door feeling the hum of presence inside, and opened it when he heard the invitation. "Enter." 

It was a warmer climate in Epicure than the northern Cynosure so it was not surprising that Duncan was lying naked in the bed with only a sheet covering him. 

"Methos," said Duncan with a hint of surprise and wariness in his voice. "I thought it was my brother. Did you wish to say something? It is rather late." 

"Oh, it's more than late, Duncan. It's later," purred Methos and was delighted as Duncan became aware of the sheet's meagre defence. 

"Ah ... before ... Methos. That was only because I was pretending to be my brother. You can't really be planning to deceive him yourself?" 

"Deceive?" said Methos, moving towards the bed. "I think that's a word you should be careful of bandying around. There are unpleasant epithets for those who say one thing with their bodies and another with their words." Duncan seemed about to deny this but caught by his own innate honesty so fell back on his earlier argument. 

"But Mac ..." 

"Mac is no innocent. He knows quite well where attraction lies and he would have diverted my attention if he was jealous of my company. This is between the two of us tonight." Methos was now standing by the bed and began to slowly disrobe. "And what I want to know is just how like your brother you are." 

Duncan was as hypnotised as a mouse by a cat and even gave a muffled squeak as Methos threw back the sheet and joined him on the bed. 

"Now your brother has a sensitive spot just here on his neck." Methos reached out and touched a place just under the chin. Duncan gasped and his eyes widened and then widened even more as Methos followed his hand with his mouth. For a while the only sound in the room was heavy breathing until Methos spoke again, "But the neck is a sensitive area for many Immortals, perhaps I should try a little lower." And with this he seemed to float downwards until he reached a nipple where he was gratified to discover that the smallest of attentions summoned a groan from his victim. 

"Still this is not a just comparison. I must seek somewhere which is unique to Mac alone." He sat back and studied the body before him delighting in the fast rising and falling of the chest, and the obvious arousal which only grew as he continued his examination. With a pounce he settled on a place just below the ribs and above the waist and began to drop kisses in a line down the writhing body until he reached his ultimate destination. Duncan cried out at the heat and warmth, and then at the comparative chill as Methos raised his head to say, "You sound just like him too." 

"I am not so experienced," said Duncan diffidently and Methos smiled in triumph at this tacit capitulation. "Oh, but I am, infant. Let me show you." 

He moved until he was lying on top of Duncan and began to kiss him. Tense at first, Duncan began to relax as Methos tenderly explored his mouth, tilting his head to one side and then the other for a new angle. Duncan's hands moved over Methos' back mapping the muscles and length of the body above him. His arousal nagged at the edge of his consciousness but the devoted attentions of his companion absorbed him. He had thought to be overwhelmed by arcane skill only to find himself wooed by gentle homage. In his turn, Methos found both contrast and familiarity in the man before him. Mac had never lain so passively with him; from the first he had been all eager exploration and bold sensuality. Yet his vivacity showed the same generous heart and singular attentiveness that his brother demonstrated in quietness. To be exclusive was not the habit of Immortals and Methos had not thought himself unfaithful in pursuing his lover's brother. But now he found himself discovering his lover anew, as if he had found the other half of Mac's soul. 

As the minutes stretched out he became a guide for Duncan, showing him the hidden pleasures of his body, laughing with him as he discovered new impulses, illuminating the reactions that left him awkward. When they joined, they eased together as if this was just one of a myriad of nights. Methos held himself poised over Duncan like the upmost extent of a swing before it cleaves the air in exaltation. Duncan lay beneath him in the splendour of his flesh, gleaming skin and eyes the outer signs of a bright spirit confided to him in perfect trusting. As Methos swept down it seemed to him that here in the most ancient of joys the world was made new for him again. 

~~~~ 

Methos woke to the feel of someone licking the back of his neck, then nibbling gently, then returning to licking. It was a very pleasant way to wake and not unfamiliar. 

"Mac?" murmured Methos. Then as awareness began to return he said contentedly, "Ah, Duncan." 

"Yes?" came a voice from in front of him. Methos' eyes snapped open and focused on a figure who was sitting at a table by the window. Dressed in a black velvet doublet over a shirt of figured black silk and with hair carefully braided back sat Duncan. Methos sat up and span round to look down at the tousled figure by his side. 

"Mac?" he repeated again, this time with a definite query in his voice. The only response was a grin and a tongue swiping across a piece of thigh that was uncovered. Methos swatted at his companion and pulled up the sheet. Mac sighed and sat up himself, assuming an expression of patient innocence. Methos shot a glance at Duncan who had a perfect mirror of that expression. 

"You ...," started Methos but was unable to continue. He had the mien and posture of a cat that had just had his fur stroked the wrong way. Realising that his location put him at a disadvantage he stepped out of the bed, gathered his clothes together with dignity and stalked towards the dressing room, refusing to rise to the bait as Duncan commented, "Most elegant, brother. I can see why you're so taken with him." 

"He is uncommonly attractive. His only fault is to be a little talkative at times, but I do believe we have found an answer to that." 

Methos slammed the door to the dressing room then pressed his ear against the door. If there had been laughter he would have come out with sword swinging, but what he was hoping for was a clue. The murmur of voices carried on unchanged by his exit from the room, so he began to dress with the ferocity of a lion tearing meat from an antelope. The problem with living in sanctuary cities was that one became careless around other Immortals. He had been sleeping deeply so had no memory of when another presence had joined them during the night, although thoughts of just why he had been sleeping so well did bring a satisfied smile to his face. But had it been Duncan or Mac? Had they changed places while he slept? In truth did it matter if they were both comfortable with the night's events? The undoubted pleasure of the previous night did much to relieve his irritation, although he would not let their perfidy pass completely unpunished. Mac in particular needed to learn that his lover was not to be trifled with. 

So it was in a better frame of mind that he left the dressing room. The two MacLeods were still in their previous positions and both looked at him with a raised eyebrow. It was difficult to remain angry with such beauty and Methos laughed. "Ah, you have me this time, infants. But I shall remember and when you're least expecting it, say in a century or two, there will be a reckoning." 

~~~~ 

It was the day of parting and a happy crowd stood on the quay, exchanging farewells and promises to meet again soon. In an alley a little back from the quay the two Fitzcairns stood talking. 

"Did you mind living in the shadow of Mac's Immortality when you were growing up?" asked Hugh. 

"I think of it not as a shadow but as a shade. Nothing was expected of me, and I think I fulfilled their expectations." Although Fitz ended with a laugh there was a note of wistfulness in his voice, but he quickly continued, "Did you mind being a slave?" 

"I rarely felt like a slave. As soon as Duncan could talk he promised me my freedom and I've always felt grateful to the fates for where I ended up. Still I suppose I felt constrained to not cause too much trouble, and sometimes Cynosure can be a little too respectable." Hugh's laughter had a touch of restiveness to it. 

There was a pause before Fitz said, "It might be interesting to be respectable for once." 

"A life without restraint could be exciting, for a little while," replied Hugh with a conspiratorial smile. He reached up and took the cord from his hair. Fitz turned round and Hugh neatly tied back his brother's hair. 

"Will you write?" asked Hugh. 

"Will you expect me too?" said Fitz with a challenge in his voice. 

"But of course." 

"Then I will. Will you?" 

"If I have any free time," said Hugh with a grin, and the brothers laughed and embraced then made their way back to the quay arm-in-arm where Fitz just had time to rush up the gangplank. 

As the ship cast off, Duncan bowed courteously to Methos who turned to Mac and asked, "Jealous?" 

"What reason would I have to be jealous, Methos?" replied Mac ingenuously. 

"I will have the truth of that night, however long it takes," said Methos wagging his finger at Mac. 

"All you need to know, Methos, is that I can be generous." Mac spread his arms wide in a gesture of benevolence. "Why, if you were a twin, I would be the first to introduce your other half to my brother, but alas you a lone Methos," Mac leant forward and chucked Methos under his chin, to his disgust, then continued, "unless there is another you have not told me of?" 

"Oh, there's only one of me, Mac. Although it is true that in years gone by I had three Immortal brothers." 

"Three!" Mac turned to catch a last glimpse of the departing ship as it disappeared behind the Isle of Prayers and asked, "Do you think one of them would make a match for Duncan? What did I say? Methos, what is so amusing? Methos, if you do not stop laughing this moment, I will throw you in the harbour! Methos!" 

THE END 


End file.
